Bruise
by Unnecessarily Cryptic Fan
Summary: We have no time left. Can't at least this last? Yullen. Character death. Lime.


Lips collide sloppily, teeth scraping against the pliant skin of one another. They are frantic. They want to experience something human before they meet their inevitable destruction.

Each feels something about the other; a need somewhere in the back of their minds to disagree with everything the other says or does. They keep their distance, referring to each other only by surname or their assigned insulting nicknames. Each boy is fighting for dominance. Neither is willing to give in, to lose, to make the other think this means anything (even if it really does).

Their hands are calloused from the war they are both far too young for, palms sliding across wet skin and fingers slipping through each other's hair. The taller, dark-haired boy wonders vaguely if the younger has any practice in this (his jerky movements seem far more experienced than hands only trained to hold a sword).

The sixteen-year-old smashes his lips back into an almost painful kiss, grinding his hips and gasping at the friction. He wants to hurry; he wants to forget all the problems loading his mind in a brief instant of mind-numbing pleasure.

His senior of three years slows the kiss, still harsh, working a leisurely, steady rhythm into the boy's frenzied thrusts. He wants to take his time; he wants to make this last so he knows he's human; so he knows he can _feel_.

Kanda traces his lips across the scars that cover the boy's body. A trail of butterfly kisses over the enormous wound on his chest; a soft touch on the pentacle that ornaments his smooth forehead. Down to his rough white palms, where long slices cover the sides of his fists, noticeable to the Japanese boy for the first time.

"Where…?"

He doesn't have to finish the question.

"Mirrors."

He doesn't pretend to know what the boy is talking about. He tries to appear as though he doesn't care; as though he doesn't _want _to know what the boy is talking about.

The rest moves too quickly for him to fully understand. He is being undressed; he is pressing his hips against those of his most 'hated' person, whispering that person's actual name for the first time. He is denying that this person makes him feel human.

The younger falls back onto the wall, and is spreading his legs further apart, _begging _for the man to bruise him, mark him. All he wants is a trace of their momentary humanity. And although the taller of the two would secretly prefer to savor the passing seconds, he reluctantly agrees.

Because he thinks Allen might deserve the pain, and Allen knows he does.

Because they both know they have no time left.

x

"Martyr" is used to describe Allen at his funeral. It is the kind of day he would have loved when he first came to the Order, bright, but snowy and chill. He always was a martyr, but somewhere in the year (was it really that short a time?) that he lived with the Order, his lack of self-preservation twisted itself into self-destruction. He would no longer love this kind of day. All he would be able to see is the cold.

It is better that he died when he did. He wouldn't have to endure (sweet, precious, sunshine; made even Kanda feel loved) Lenalee's death. He wouldn't have to see (cheerful, friendly, liar; made even Kanda feel at home) Lavi rip himself apart mentally, disregarding all duties as a Bookman and an Exorcist, only to stare silently at her grave. She is buried before Allen is, because she is the only one who retained her joy throughout the cruel reality forced upon her by her Innocence. She was the light. Allen's light had faded.

Yes, it's better that he died when he did. He wouldn't feel obligated to make Lavi smile. He wouldn't have to see how everyone worried over Komui, whose life had almost drained out of him. He wouldn't have to see everyone cry at his own funeral, or have to cry with them because he loves everyone so damn much and wants them to be happy.

As the open coffin is lowered into the grave (reflecting white light from the sky), the bruises are still visible, just over the boy's collar.

The graveyard is cleared after an immeasurable period of time that no one had to spare anymore.

Cleared, except for one figure who only just now walks into view of the grave. He does not want to see the body lowered into the gaping mouth of the Earth, does not want to see the still, chalky body of a once joyful spirit.

It is snowing again.

He falls to his knees over the grave. Last two petals. He doesn't have much time to apologize to everyone, so Allen will have to do (he is, in a way, 'everyone').

For the first time, Kanda allows his humanity to show. He is supposed to be strong; he is not supposed to care about those who have fallen. He is supposed to forget. For the first time, he allows himself to be weak.

For the first time, he cries.

_Fin._

**D:**

**No! Not my beautiful Lenalee! And Lavi, **_**Lavi**_**! -Sob-**

Allen: A_hem_?

**Oh, yeah, you too. Tch.**


End file.
